"Yes," replied Prescott, his eyes opening rather wide. "Don't you consider that one may be a gentleman and yet be industrious?"
"Oh, I reckon so," sighed Algy Ferrers. "But it all seems a beastly grind."
"Then how did your ever come to think of going into the Army?"
"I didn't," almost flared up Algy. "It was the guv'nor. He forced me into it. Said he'd cut my allowance off altogether, and leave me out of his will if I didn't get to work. And he chose the Army for me, and put the whole thing through. Wasn't it beastly of the guv'nor?"
"I'm not so sure that it was," smiled Lieutenant Prescott. "Of course it was different with me. My father worked, and had to, or starve. It was the same with me, which may be why I can look upon the idea of a lot of work without feeling insulted by fate. But I reckon, Ferrers, that no man is worth his salt in the world unless he does work."
This was the day after Algy's arrival. Colonel North and Major Silsbee had not yet put the new young officer actually at work. They had allowed him this time of grace to get settled in his new quarters, and to talk over his new duties with young Prescott.
"I can never remember all that long list of things you told me, dear fellow," complained Algy. "Won't you do me a great, big favor?"
"What?"
"Write down for me that—er—time table you laid down for me."
"No." Lieutenant Prescott's tone was almost abrupt. "I'll repeat it to you, Ferrers, and you can write it down for yourself. Get a pencil and paper."